


The Person That You'd Take The Bullet For, Is Behind The Gun.

by buckycap



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Captain America - The Winter Soldier, The Avengers (2012), Winter Soldier (Comics), Winter Soldier (MCU)
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Captivity, Chains, M/M, Mind Control, Sensory Deprivation, Torture, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckycap/pseuds/buckycap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier has a familiar face that Steve recognises, one that draws up old feelings and memories. But it can't be him, it can't be. He's dead, isn't he? At least that's what everyone thinks until his memories come back... just not the important ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cold Hand Of A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a slow work in progress and usually I use pictures and music to help me. I will be updating the tag list as I go along and I will put up warnings for any chapters that may contain triggering scenes. For this chapter I used this image:
> 
> http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mc5sutKQS01qdnjl0o1_500.jpg
> 
> to help me. Credit is unknown but if anyone knows who drew this I'll gladly credit them after the link. This chapter contains torture, sensory deprivation and, well hopefully it will give you the same ache in your chest that I got writing it xD
> 
> IMPORTANT: Hover over the Russian for the translation :3
> 
> And once again I suck at titles so bare with me! Let me know if you think I should write more or whether it makes no sense and I should crawl back into my cocoon!
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve was in the shitter.

There was a multitude of things that screamed this at him but the most prominent one was the fact he was having conversations like this with himself. It was pitch black, Steve couldn't see a single thing no matter how many times he blinked. The darkness was almost suffocating as at some point the temperature inside the cell had risen rather dramatically until Steve was sweating in his chains, beads of sweat running down to open wounds and causing jerks and hisses of pain. It had been like this for the last three days. The Captain knew this because despite it all he had kept count for the first two days. Calmly counting down the second until something changed. He had picked up a pattern at first. The sweltering heat of the darkness followed by the blinding light and the shrill noise that made his ears bleed. He could never move his hands to cover his ears and had to twist and suffer before he was doused in ice water and plunged into darkness again. When the temperature of the room would drop Steve would notice a distinct muffling came over the room. He couldn't hear a thing, couldn't see. All he had was his own heartbeat drumming hard in his chest and the pain of his injuries to keep him going. The beatings were regular and painful, aimed to hurt and would probably break a few bones on a normal human. Steve wasn't normal though and he had no choice but to endure.

_Light, dark, hot, cold, wet, dry, beatings, pain over and over and over and over like a dance, break the hero down and watch him mend. It's all right he's just a toy._

Steve's wrists were locked tight in manacles attached to heavy chains that disappeared up into the dark before looping down to wrap tight around his forearms and back up into the dark. Steve had busted out of the chains once, taken down a number of men before several darts and a cattle prod had him crumpling. He had woken to a dislocated shoulder, forced by his reckoning, and his ankles locked and chained to the floor. Steve had felt like a bit of a puppet in the beginning but now? Now he was tired, sore, he couldn't get his shoulder to pop back in and it was hindering his escape and even more than that it was hard to keep your head in these conditions. The dark and cold was too much like the ice, the heat and bright lights was too much like the crash. Steve was struggling, struggling to keep his head straight, and struggling to keep his mind focussed on his escape. What escape? He didn't even know who help him, didn't know if Tony had any idea where the hell he was and even more than that, every part of the soldier ached in ways he hated. Steve shifted in the chains, trying to ease the cramp that had locked up his lower back before jets of ice cold water cascaded down on him. Steve's body locked up at the sudden shock of cold, a broken groan of pain choking its way out of chapped lips before the blinding lights came back on, the screaming noise that made him want to tear his hair out and thinking it couldn't get worse, the beats started.

_"Tony, relax. You're no good to anyone like this. No, Tony relaxes. RELAX!" Clint gripped tighter onto Tony's shoulders and forced him back down onto the chair. Everyone was worried about Steve, everyone feared for his safety. Last they knew his plane had gone down somewhere over Russia and Tony was blaming himself. Heavily. "It was my tech Clint, it was my tech that failed, my box that broke and it's my fault that we have such a huge crash site!" The engineer struggled under the archers grip but Clint was relentless, wrapping his arms around his lover and pressing his face to his neck. "Tony listen to me, Rhodey has the Marines scouring through the footage, we have Fury practically taking over NASA to get all the possible area shots just please... there is nothing we can do until we get news. A place to start and we will find him." It was heartbreaking to see Tony like this. This guilty, this broken over something that no one could have predicted. No one blamed Stark but himself and for the smallest moment he relaxed into Clint’s grip before he jerked away, stalking out the room. Clint heaved out a sigh, crossing his legs on the bed. Steve was strong; he could last until they found him and put Tony's mind at ease. He had to._

They'd finally drawn a scream from him, finally drawn a broken sound from the super soldier. The moment the cry had escaped him the whole room plunged into darkness, the sound stopped and Steve heard a door slam. He was left, slumped exhausted in the chains. Steve suit was a wreck, torn open by a whip and what he was fairly certain was a bamboo cane; splitting his skin over and over until it felt like his whole body was on fire. The ice water ran into the injuries and stung and when it splashed over his lips and he lapped thirstily at the droplets he was certain he tasted salt. No wonder it stung so much. The Captain could still hear the ear piercing sound drilling around his head, the pounding of a headache that had him needing to curl up. Needing to give himself some sort of comfort but he couldn't. He was trapped and strung up like washing on a summer’s day. 

The worst part out of it all was possibly the lack of communication. No one spoke to him, no one asked any questions. The few times he had demanded someone to talk to all he had received was laughter. Russian, he knew that much, from the thick accent when they would talk to one another. It reminded him of Natasha when she would find herself in a heated argument and the accent would slip through. It had the hero wondering if it was the same dialect, a similar place maybe and if so then perhaps he could find something out, something to his own advantage... once the pain stopped.

It continued through the night, though to Steve it was endless hours of crazy sounds and temperatures and the occasional cold shower. But he didn't give in, there was still that small shred of hope that they had him alive, they wanted him alive for some reason and whatever that reason was he hoped it was good.

By morning Steve was weak. His head hung low between his shoulders. Occasionally his tongue would dart out to wet his dry lips but that was the only movement from him. The rest was the uncontrollable shaking that wracked his body, his wounds attempting to heal despite how weak he was but the constant chill was not doing the soldier any good. He hung there, waiting in the dark before he drifted off, close to passing out when fire alighted across his back and Steve jerked in pain, tensing his injured arms to pull up and away from the pain. He heard a laugh from somewhere in the dark before the crack of the whip a second time and fire cut across his stomach.

"[Капитан Америка, как хорошо, что вы просыпаетесь только для меня](http://archiveofourown.org/works/)." Steve frowned, not understanding a word of the thick Russian that came from his left before he felt the whip cut across his thigh and he jerked with a whine of pain, hands curling into firsts. "I-Is this when I break down and tell you everything you want to know?" Steve's voice was dry, cracked from little use and he wasn't even sure if the other could understand him but the light sarcastic tone was unmissable. He heard a chuckle, pain cutting across his chest. He could feel the warmth of his own blood once again running down his skin, warming the body that had been chilled by the water.

"[Ах мы сами комик а? Как интересно. Можно было бы думать, что в такое время вы были бы попытки переговоров. Но нет, вы приседать здесь, скулить, как собака!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/)“The Russian spat on the ground before the whip came down on Steve's dislocated shoulder and Steve cried out that time. He didn't understand a word but he wasn't giving in either. "Is this... t-this what they teach you on Russia's good little school for twisted minds?" he croaked before he felt something cold and thin trace over one of the exposed area's of skin where his suit had ripped. A knife. Steve's breath hitched, twisting away and blinking furiously in the dark to try and get some idea of where his attacker was before a solid cold hand clamped around his throat and Steve whined slightly. He couldn't see, he could feel the blade moving over his stomach and the tightening grip around his throat had him trying and failing to find leverage to move away.

"[Посмотри на себя, беспорядок. Что мы можем уменьшить, чтобы вы это всего лишь простой пример. Это только начало. Мы будем разблокировать все секреты, хранящиеся в ваше тело и ум, и мы сломаем тебя капитан, пока ничего не осталось для вашей команды, чтобы найти.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/)" Steve's eyes rolled slightly before the lights snapped on, much softer than the previous days but it still hurt like hell. Steve blinked, a face slowly coming into view as the Russian spoke and his breath hitched in pain as the blade began to twist into his skin. The Russian continued to speak but Steve wasn't listening anymore. He was staring through slightly blurred vision at the face. The sharp green eyes, the square of the jaw down to that chin, those lips and further down. No... No this was... this was impossible!

The man jerked the knife, drawing Steve back with a growl of pain and anger blazed in Steve's eyes for a moment before he sagged. It couldn't be, that face... that face was gone, falling down into the icy depths never to be seen again. Steve's heart ached at the cruel trick, the metal hand tilting Steve's face back up and he really did look like him.

"B-Bucky..?"

"[Кто, черт возьми, Баки?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/)" The Russian's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer, lips parting to speak before there was a creak, the door at the other end opening and a yell of Russian had the man dropping his hand and wiping the blood on his suit. "[До следующего раза](http://archiveofourown.org/works/)," the Russian muttered, thrusting the knife about an inch deep before twisting and ripping the blade out and stalking away. Steve's side lit up in pain but it was nothing compared to the war in his head. "N-No... come back... come back!" He needed to see that face again, so familiar. Yet Steve was used to seeing a smile, a smirk, a cheeky twinkle in those eyes and kiss swollen lips. Steve yelled hoarsely before the door was slammed shut.

"Bucky!" Steve's yell was silenced by the gush of ice water, the room plunging into darkness and the ear piercing sound that had Steve squirming in pain.

It couldn't be him.

It was impossible.

No one could have survived something like that.

Yet... Steve did.


	2. The only easy day was yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a loss, Tony falls asleep at his notes leaving Clint to carry him off to bed. Natasha agrees to continue going through the security footage but it's a location on the map that means no one gets any sleep that night. They just have to hope Steve's alive, the Winter Soldier's been given his orders. He never fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! I hope you all enjoy it as much as the first. Again the image I used to help me along with this chapter is just a simple gif, this one:
> 
> http://media.tumblr.com/9bb52c801942f84c73344fa37638c330/tumblr_inline_mlezmeSdgi1qz4rgp.gif
> 
> I won't explain how my mind works but that gif helped me :) Warning wise there's more sensory torture, more physical torture and mentions of mind control. If you read anything that you think people should be warned about then please let me know. This is all purely fiction but I'm drawing from the comics to an extent.
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter because I figured we needed a little bit more substance and I think it's shitter :/ and I hope it doesn't put you off.
> 
> Oh and again hover over the Russian for a translation!  
> Enjoy!

Over a week had passed with no news, no help and no leads.

Tony barely slept, barely left his lab pouring over data and predictions and hypothesis. Rhodey dropped by but it was never good news, only scoring off a destination, patting his best friend on the shoulder before leaving to continue his work. Clint had taken to camping out on the lab floor. If Tony refused to come to bed then Clint would stay with him day and night and do his work there. The satellite images Fury had handed over helped Tony track the crash site but the news that Steve's body was not among the dead brought hope and a growing sense of dread. They needed to find the soldier and fast.

Halfway around the world Steve was still locked in his small hell. Ever since the day the lights had went up he had been unable to get that face out of his mind, those green eyes piercing through every other thought. Bucky Barnes, his best friend. His protector, his brother in arms... his lover. The nights they had spent together were a distant memory, the words of love whispered in a dark tent had been stolen away the moment James had fallen. Steve blamed himself fully and nothing would ever sway that but seeing his face; and it was him Steve was sure of it, it was awful. Since then however, things had gotten worse. The Captain had a constant headache, aggravated by the sounds that split through the darkness. The cold showers lasted longer, sometimes the water pressure was so strong Steve struggled to breathe through it; and the beatings had broken several ribs, fingers, he wasn't sure his shoulder would ever slot back into place.

Steve held on though.

To that face.

Those eyes.

Praying he would see him again, praying he would get a chance to ask and talk, oblivious to the fact that most of the beatings were dealt by him.

The Winter Soldier that was his title. He was the best, the assassin sent to kill other assassin's, a perfect record and countless kills under his belt. He had no idea who the man was other than Captain America, an enemy of Department X and a target he was enjoying breaking. He felt nothing when he dealt the pain, a slight satisfaction that he was trusted enough to take care of someone deemed such a threat but other than that there was no other emotion stirring under the skin of the Winter Soldier.

Yet... that name. Bucky. He had detected recognition in the captive’s voice but he didn't know why. Didn't know this man and had no idea who 'Bucky' was. After the lights had drawn up he had stared at the beaten face of a crumbling man and felt nothing but pride before he was pulled away. Lukin had been angry, yelling coming from the offices down from where he had to sit and wait between session with that name twisting around his mind like poison. It was wiped away, quickly, by his own bout of suffering and everything appeared to slot back into place. The Winter Soldier continued his torture of the Captain, tasting the blood and storing away the cries that fell from broken lips.

He would break him.

 

'thunk'

Clint's head darted up from the file, gaze locking on the engineer in front of him. "Tony..?" It wasn't rare for Tony to grow frustrated and slump over the table but it was rare for him to slump like that and snore. Clint's lips twitched into a smile as he tossed the file aside and stood. It was hard on all of them but Tony was blaming himself for every mistake and every failure making sleep impossible so the archer wasn't surprised that Tony had passed out on his work bench over a map he had been pouring over. "JARVIS, could you call someone down, help me clean this place up once I've tucked the idiot in bed?" At JARVIS' agreement Clint moved over to the seat and gently worked Tony into his arms, the billionaire slumping against him with words of maps and blood but Clint hushed him and turned to carry him up the stairs. Passing Natasha on the way he promised to be back down soon before they parted. Natasha was actually glad to see Tony asleep; she did not like the team being on edge like this. Steve missing for so long, his jet down on Russia... the Widow was mulling to herself as she helped. Sliding into the recently vacated stool she slid sheets together, gaze scanning over the map on the bench. Tony had plotted hundreds of blue dots all over towns and little villages and she knew that one of them had to hold Steve. Maybe he was seeking shelter, had injured himself in the crash or... Her thought process trailed off as her gaze landed on a name. It wasn't a town or a village, it was an oil rig, something Tony had circled but she knew it. "JARVIS get everyone up, now!"

 

Steve was slipping and slipping fast. Super soldier yes but that was physical. Deep down he was still that skinny little kid who tried to do what was right, tried to make things better for people but this? The constant battering and pain was driving him insane but he had no energy to move any more. He just hung there, broken and bloody waiting for the next blow, the next gush of water, the next searing stab of pain in his skull or the pain from dehydration, he just hung and waited. The Winter Soldier was done for the day, laying down the broken bamboo and bloodied knives on the tray. Lukin had given no order for him to start questioning so it was all about pain. A light flickered on above his head, glancing up he knew that the sound torture had begun and he heard a faint scream through the thick door before he turned away and headed for Lukin's office to hand in his report. Lukin liked things clean and precise, all injuries catalogued and stored away. Knocking on the door he waited for the bark of Russian that allowed him to enter before he seated himself at his Comrade's desk and began his report. He talked about every tool he used, ever technique, every slice and bruise he had added to the prisoner's skin before Lukin gave a tight smile and waved a hand, motioning him away. Winter stood, heading for the door before he paused and frowned.

"Sir, when do you wish me to start questioning him?" he asked, turning back. Lukin's pen stopped moving, dark eyes glancing up from his work and his lips set in a thin line. " **[Ты понимаешь, что только задал мне вопрос на английском языке?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)** " Winter's grip tightened on the door knob, how had he managed to slip up like that? He hadn't spoken English since Natalia, helping her learn but that was over, that was wrong and yet he had spoken as if it was natural to him. Lukin's silence was Winter's cue to leave and he did so, shutting the door and heading back to his cell. In the silence of the compound the word Bucky slipped back into his thoughts, angry that he had no idea who this 'Bucky' was and a little confused as to why he was not questioning the American. Was this practice? He didn't want to risk another stint in the cryogenic pod though so these thoughts were kept silent for now.

Later that night Winter was pulled from his work by Lukin entering his cell, motioning his soldier to follow him. He looked tense, angry but Winter followed with his head dipped like always. Like the way he had been taught. They were heading for the American's cell and Winter hoped this would be the beginning of the interrogation. He was curious as to what the American knew what he had been doing in the area and as they entered the cell his gaze snapped and settled on the beaten man hanging from the chains. The tang of blood and cold stung at his senses hands clasping behind his back as Lukin raised a hand to signal his stop.

Steve was barely aware of Lukin. He saw the metal hand, knew what was attached and who was attached and despite his current state, a need to talk, to look up and see again was burning in his veins despite the weakness of his body. "Captain America, the great hero so easily reduced to... this." There was a snap, a loud crash somewhere and the chains suddenly went slack. There was nothing to stop Steve crashing into the flood, his legs certainly couldn't hold him up and his arms were so numb from the lack of movement that he could not reach out to catch himself. Winter watched in silence as the hero crumpled to the ground, glancing at Lukin when Steve cried out in sheer agony and he shifted where he stood. Lukin paced, catching Winter's gaze before nudging the Captain with his foot, kicking him over and pressing the heel of his boot to the dislocated soldier. "A perfect symbol of America. Weak, broken, defiant until the end but still a complete mess." Steve's vision whitened in pain but still his attention remained on Bucky, on the man standing so still and loyal. "B-Buck..." Steve's voice was pitiful but it got him a reaction. Those green eyes glanced at him and whatever Lukin was saying faded into background noise. 

Steve was lost in those eyes, so full of anger and hate and yet... nothing. But it was Bucky, he knew it was him and while there was a million questions the most prominent one was... why was he here? Steve's body cramped up in pain when Lukin stamped down on his shoulder, a growling groan of pain rumbling in his throat before Lukin snapped his fingers and Winter strode over, hauling Steve to his knee's as if he was nothing but a sack and stepping back. There was a loud crash from somewhere but none of that mattered right now.

Lukin was pressing a pistol into Winter's hand, the silver fingers curling tight around the grip and Steve's eyes closed at a wave of dizziness. " **[Ты лучший из лучших зимних солдата. Вы сделали нас гордыми, но я думаю, на этот раз будет посылать больше сообщений он находится где-то](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)**." Winter gripped the gun and nodded once, no questions asked and he stepped forward aiming the gun at the Captain, waiting until those eyes opened again before he flicked the safety off.

Steve's attempted to swallow, unsure what was being said but Bucky pointing a gun in his face was not a good thing and his attention darted between them both.

"Bucky... w-wait... wait...”

" **[Убейте его](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)"**

" **[Да, сэр.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)** "


	3. The blood coats only one pair of hands.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier has been given a direct order, one that if he refuses he will end up on the receiving end. So why is he hesitating?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love feed back from you guys! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and slightly evil that I've caught someone's attention with this fic. I can't put into words my feelings for Stucky xD 
> 
> And major kudos to fluxoid for helping me make the final decision of where this chapter was going to go and ending the debate between me and my friend!
> 
> The only warning this time is waterboarding so if that makes you feel funny please don't read this chapter. This is also from Bucky's point of view so if anyone has trouble understanding what is happening to Steve please let me know and I'll rewrite it.
> 
> The image I used was this one, it's just a reference image for water boarding to be careful!: http://media.tumblr.com/f54d1ddfec4617fe8a8506144734d77c/tumblr_inline_mk6fx4xc631qz4rgp.gif
> 
> The second image is from the comics:  
> http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LW05lpsdnHo/Ti4-Z0fb2wI/AAAAAAAAAEE/cPC5GnQ3TfY/s1600/Captain+America+V5+%252314+-+Page+18.jpg
> 
> It is shorter but I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did writing it!
> 
> Enjoy!

" **[Убейте его](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)"**

 

" **[Да, сэр.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)** "

 

An order, a direct order in fact from Lukin and Winter knew better than anyone that you don't disobey. You don't argue back and you don't try to twist things. You do as Lukin asks and consider yourself lucky to walk away alive. So why hadn't he pulled the trigger yet? Winter tightened his hold on the grip of the gun, finger caressing the trigger and aimed perfectly at the centre of the captive’s bruised forehead. Fearful yet defiant blue eyes were staring up at him, bleeding lips moving but Winter barely heard anything other than 'Bucky' over and over again. Why, he wanted to ask, why do you keep calling me that? It felt... Winter couldn't put his finger on how that felt but it reminded him of back when Natalia was still here, when he would sneak into her room and she would whisper his name into his ear. That was wrong yes; the reason he ended up beaten within an inch of his life, why he was frozen but that didn't mean he forgot.

No he still remembered and he still hid it, the slip up earlier with his outburst in English was compromising himself so why hadn't he pulled the trigger? He could not afford another mistake but... staring down at the shaking soldier, the way his shoulder was bent out of place, blood dripping onto the floor from wounds he had caused, bruises from beatings he had administered, broken bones he had taken an amount of pleasure in breaking... but ending his life? Winter's arm dipped only slightly before he drew in a breath and levelled it again. The Captain was still talking, Winter could hear the pain in his voice, the desperation and it was the only noise in the room but he didn't care.

Right?

No, he didn't. He was the enemy, a nobody, an evil runt that had crawled in and it was time to end his life. Nothing in the world would be able to wipe away that look of heartbreak across the Captain's face as Winter pulled the trigger. The click echoed throughout the room but no shot was fired. Drawing in his arm he pressed the button and slid out the magazine. Empty? Winter cast a glance over at Lukin expecting... well he wasn't sure what he was expecting but the look on his boss' face was not a good one and deep down he knew it had nothing to do with the lack of bullets. Stepping away from the Captain he glanced back at the ruined hero, such pain in his eyes but this was more than physical and confusion stirred inside the assassin before he lowered his arms, trying to rearrange his thoughts back into what they were supposed to be as three men entered the room and headed for the Captain. There was no struggle as they pulled him up and backwards. He would have been lying down had they not lid a stool under his back to keep him elevated but his shoulders and head tipped back towards the floor.

Winter knew what was going to happen but it wasn't that which had his attention; it was Lukin who stepped right up to him, anger blazing in his eyes. "[Почему вы колеблетесь, товарищ?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)" Winter met his gaze steadily; heart beating just a little faster and his lips parted to say... nothing. He didn't know why he had hesitated, didn't know why those blue eyes had stopped him from pulling the trigger. It didn't make sense in his mind so how could he explain it? The situation very much felt like years ago when he was being questioned about Natalia, the way his heart was beating, the way Lukin looked ready to snap. A rush of coldness caught his attention, Winter's gaze drifting behind Lukin to the Captain stretched out with a cloth over his face, the usual ice shower cascading down and Winter winced. 

He actually winced before he could stop himself. He knew what that felt like, the cold seizing up every muscle, the pain and the water; feeling like you were being held under the water and no amount of struggling or head tossing would dislodge the cloth. It was clever and horrible at the same time. Quickly green eyes moved back to Lukin. "[ **Почему** вы колеблетесь, товарищ?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)" There was more force this time, more demand but Winter had most of his attention on the whimpers and choking behind him. Why did this make him so uncomfortable? He had performed it as often as he received it and it should not have bothered him this way but it did. Something was stirring.

Cracking.

Splintering away the shell that Department X had created and Lukin could see it. Just like last time. Winter shook his head and his gaze fell, he had no answer for this. No answer for his hesitation and by default his disobedience and as a result he suspected what would happen to him later. Lukin's hand wrapped around Winter's throat, slamming him backwards against the wall. Instinct had Winter's bionic arm gripping around his wrist, the urge to send a pulse through the man bubbling under the surface but he refrained, dropping his hand away. "[Ваши колебания и нелояльности, рассматриваются в установленном товарищ курса. Может быть, вы прошли ваши срок годности и нужно несколько хм коррективы?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/764190/chapters/)"

What happened in the next few moments would forever remain sharp in Winter's memory. There was an explosion from somewhere, one that shook the whole building. The body of the Captain had gone limp and even Winter saw the flash of uncertainty in Lukin's eyes before he was dropped. Gasping for breath he saw a couple of men run in, a silver case in one hand that was quickly passed to Lukin. Another explosion and Winter felt the floor shake before he heard gunfire and the empty weapon still in his flesh hand was flipped around to use the handle as a club of need be. There were screams, two of the Russian soldiers running from the room as Lukin knelt and snapped open the case.

A glowing blue cube lay inside, Winter's attention distracted by how familiar that look... like deja vu from an old time before Lukin was sent sprawling across the floor by someone tackling him. Winter darted to the side, seeing a man with a bow clutched in one hand and the case slid across the floor in the commotion, catching on a jutt in the floor and flipping. Winter, hoping to earn brownie points dived for the cube as it toppled from the case, catching it and turning on his haunches to come face to face with a woman with flaming red hair.

"Natalia?!" The shock of seeing her standing there, surprise mirrored on her own face was quickly wiped away as he tensed, gripping the cube and a crack echoed around the room.

"No, James don't!" Natalia was running towards him, heat spreading up his arm from the cube before there was a flash of bright light, blinding pain through his head. Images and yelling, flashes of faces and the burn of recognition, pain and fear and guilt and falling. All of it at once taking over his mind causing him to crumple to the ground with a scream; hands pressed tight over his ears as he tried to fight it before everything sank into darkness.


	4. Take a little hint from me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up to find himself back at SHIELD with some very worried friends hanging over the edge of his bed. But what happened to Bucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy sorry this is short I had some bad news and I just needed to write and distract myself to be warned this chapter may get re-written/ The image I used as reference is this one:
> 
> http://th08.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/f/2011/217/c/5/captain_america__nice_nurses_by_dauntingfire-d45k0sj.jpg
> 
> Because it's freaking adorable and although Steve's a lot more beat up in that picture I liked the whole "even though I'm half dead I'm still going to be a gentleman" look that he has going on.
> 
> There are no warning for this other than hospital I guess but if you find something let me know!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Is he awake?"

"Still no sign."

"Dammit... he needs to wake up soon, Tony's going insane with guilt."

"I saw, you'd think he would have gotten the message by now."

"It's Tony; do you know how long it took me to persuade him that I was 100% serious when I said I loved him? Telling him this isn't his fault is... it won't fly."

"I know, maybe he will believe it from Steve."

"Doubt it."

"He will."

"If he wakes up. Can I have his jello?"

"Clint you have three seconds to get your fingers off that tub!"

 

Of course Tony was blaming himself, of course Clint was being silly and making jokes, of course Natasha was keep a cool head at all points. Steve had been awake for some time now just listening. Waking up and feeling light on his face, against his eyelids; it had been instinct to keep them tightly closed. He couldn't feel any pain which was strange enough before Steve eventually worked out that he couldn't really feel... anything. His first thought was that he had died, that he was dreaming the voices of Stark and Rhodey, the low drone of Fury and even a worried whisper from Pepper. But eventually the touches and the tears, yes tears, and the constant presence of no pain had Steve going with other options.

Was it over?

Was he safe?

Eventually the burning need to urinate was becoming too much and while in his prison he had had no option but to relieve over himself, if he really was safe then surely... Steve was waiting on the usual blinding pain that came from the bright lights or expecting that awful screeching sound again. He could still feel the burn of the water down his throat, over his face; no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Blinking slowly he tensed immediately when the lights dimmed even further and had it not been for a flash of red and a gentle hand on his shoulder did he fully open his eyes into the dark room. "Hey soldier, long time no see." Steve had to blink a few times for Natasha's face to swim into focus but it finally did and he was met with the overwhelming relief that she would not hurt him. His lips parted, dry through working to talk but Natasha quickly shook her head and reached for a glass of water with a straw on the table. "Easy... you're severely hydrated and you've been out for three days. The doc's been pumping fluids into you but you have to take it slow." Steve nodded slowly, sealing his lips around the straw and fighting the urge to drink every drop the moment the cool liquid touched and soothed his throat. Natasha was smart enough to pull the drink away once she judged he had drank enough and Clint moved into view near the foot of the bed. Worry lines creased along his forehead, bags under his eyes but he looked relieved. "Sorry... I kept you up," Steve finally spoke, his voice rough but clear and Clint's huff of laughter was enough to soothe the tension in the room.

"Damn inconsiderate of you Steve, I need my beauty sleep, you know what Starks like." Clint seated himself on the bed, both of them eyeing the Captain as if they expected him to fade away at any moment while he looked at them with the clear fear that they would vanish before his eyes and he would be back there. Natasha squeezed his shoulder lightly and it was then Steve was reminded of the utter agony he had been in the past week, glancing down at himself and seeing a lot of white bandages. "You're okay Steve, nothing that won't heal in time," Natasha answered his silent question, moving to give him a little more room. "We popped your shoulder back into place but you will need physio, it seems the serum and your healing tried to heal around the injury when the joint wasn't righted so your arm might be out of commission for a while but we will get you back on track. Everything else...” Natasha knew she didn't have to list off the injuries as Steve had been enduring the past week. Instead she smiled strongly. "Everything physical will heal." Those words hung in the air and Clint's gaze dropped away from the Captain. Steve frowned a little but he knew the reason.

Having endured a week of serious sensory torture, Steve's mind stability would be coming into question. Steve waggled his bruised fingers, not wishing to talk yet and it seemed they were under orders not to bring up anything too heavy as Clint then leaned forward and prodded Steve hard in his leg. "Stark whipped up this concoction. It's gotta be on a constant drip so your system doesn't wipe it out but it’s keeping you from feeling anything. You were unconscious when we got you back here but man... you can scream." Steve winced at that, yet he had to appreciate the length Tony had gone to to make sure he would not be feeling any pain when he woke up. "I don't... remember how we...” Steve shook his head and sighed but he didn't miss the glance Clint gave Natasha and despite the tight burn it gave him, Steve cleared his throat in the way that made even Tony perk up.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Natasha asked carefully. Steve's brow furrowed as he thought. "I-I remember... the Russian... and... and Bucky! He was there! My friend... I know it sounds so crazy but he was there but he was so... different. His arm was metal and he didn't know who I was. He had a gun and the Russian... the Russian was telling him things, I don't know what and then he... he pulled the trigger...” Neither assassin mentioned the look that crossed Steve's face as he spoke but Clint shifted a little closer to his friend. "There was no bullets though and the Russian was angry, yelling and then men came in and I was so... tired I couldn't stop them or the cloth or the water... it was... I couldn't breathe I-.. I couldn't it felt like... I-.." Steve shook his head and Natasha murmured something to Clint who quickly left.

"Steve what you suffered through... the fact you survived is a miracle in itself and most of the team is blaming themselves for not getting you sooner. But your friend Bucky... he's not who you think."

The next half hour was spent with Natasha calmly telling Steve of how Bucky had been recovered by Department X after he fell, how the incident had caused the loss of his arm and the Russian's had replaced the absent limb with a metal one. Brainwashed and memory-less Bucky was twisted, tortured and manipulated into become a cold killing loyal robot code named the Winter Soldier. Steve listened, face grave as he took in every detail, how Bucky would be sent on mission, believed he was a Russian, that he was and always had been the Winter Soldier. Natasha told him of her own experiences, how Winter trained her in the Red Room and that they fell in love, having a strong affair kept secret from everyone. Their relationship cracked the Winter Soldier programming, Bucky becoming that little bit more human until Alexei, the man Natasha was set to marry, found out and reported them. Bucky was then taken away, tortured and frozen in a cryo pod between his missions, his latest one being the mutilation and murder of Captain America.

Through it all Steve only caught onto a few things. That Bucky had been brainwashed, hurt. That didn't excuse the clear atrocities he had caused but it gave Steve a little hope that it hadn't been Bucky. The freezing... that explained why his friend had looked older but not as old as he should have been and the main one that stuck was that Bucky and Natasha had fallen in love, something strong enough to crack the programming forced into his broken mind and Steve did feel the pain of that, the ache that developed and spread in his chest. True he hadn't known who he was or anything like that but the knowledge was... numbing.

"Is he here?" Steve asked as Natasha finished explaining that the cube he had grabbed had done something to him but she didn't say what. At the nod of her head, the blonde fought to push himself up. "I want to see him."

"Thought you would say that." Steve glanced behind Natasha, his gaze settling on Sam, possibly one of the closest friends Steve had and one who had stayed up many late nights listening to Steve reminisce about the old days and often Bucky himself. "Sam...”

"Hey bud," Same smiled carefully, crossing over to the bed and doing a scan of his friend. "Looking a little beat up."

"Nothing I can't handle. Please... I want to see him." Steve's gaze darted between them both and maybe it was because the Captain looked so broken laying there hooked up to machines and bandaged up or because they both knew that the Captain needed something after his hell, something to hold on to. Plus it was Steve, he would find his way down to holding one way or another and Natasha and Sam would much rather it was safely than find him sprawled at the bottom of a set of stairs before he tried to get there himself.

Half an hour later Sam had carefully manoeuvred his friend into s wheelchair, tucking the blankets around him to keep him cosy and safe and Steve hadn't said a word. After everything it was nice to have friends around, even ones who may have been a little over the top with their care but Steve couldn't make them stop. The scrape of the metal on the floor though had Steve flinching, the heart monitor showing a rapid increase in heart rate but no one said a word. Sam pressed his hand to Steve's arm in a soothing gesture, helping him relieve himself before they went on their way.

No one said much as they passed, making their way down to the holding cells and Natasha and Sam keeping some small talk between them while Steve sat silent and drugged. The cube had apparently broken the Winter Soldier programming and his old life had come flooding back. Most of it, Natasha had said and Steve's heart ached. What if Bucky didn't remember him? Didn't remember their life together, their friendship or their time in the army? What if he didn't remember... them?

That thought was a chilling one and the knowledge that he would probably remember his love for Natasha was a sobering one. To fall in love with someone during that hell, strong enough to break through memory wipes and coding... that was powerful stuff. Before long they made it down, Tony and Clint already in the observation room when they entered and while Tony's face showed a huge relief there was also fear and worry still etched into his face. Sam wheeled Steve's up to the mirror and the soldier took a deep breath as he looked through the glass.

Bucky was there but he looked half the man that Steve had seen in Russia. Curled up in the corner with a knee drawn up to his bare chest sat Bucky. He was covered in a variety of bruises and injuries and a sickening number of scars seen clear in the light. He looked strong and bulked up but also strangely thin and drawn. The metal arm shone in the light, the red Russian star painted up on the bicep and a rather painful looking scar around the join. His head was down, hair ruffled and messy but Steve's heart was breaking just from seeing him so docile. Bucky or Winter Soldier, he had never looked so... beaten down.

"Can I see him?" Steve's voice broke the silence, everyone seemingly watching Steve's reaction and Tony sucked in air sharp through his teeth. "I don't think that's a good idea after what he did to you." Sam shot Tony a look, rolling his eyes as Steve frowned in confusion. "What he did...?" Natasha flicked on one of the monitors, a night vision camera and everyone let out the same pained breath at the sigh to Steve brokenly hanging in the chains and Bucky pacing around him with a cane in hand. Sam slammed the tape off with a small growl. "He was the one that caused near 95% of your injuries Steve and while we've had him locked up he's not exactly stable nor has he spoke much," said Clint. "We don't fully know what condition he is in, how he would react to seeing you if he remembers you at all...”

If. That was a big if and Steve nodded slowly, fingers winding around the line pumping the drugs into his body. "Please... you guys are here if anything goes wrong just please... let me...” There was a moment of discussion in which Steve's gaze turned back to the man on the other side of the mirror before a gentle tug brought him back to the main room. "Come on." Sam wheeled Steve out of the observation room and slowly into the room holding Bucky. Steve knew everyone was on edge but he felt nothing but heart ache at the sight of the man on the floor and even though Sam stopped him a good distance away he reached down to painfully wheel himself closer.

"James?"

There was no reaction, the man never moved and it barely looked like he was breathing. The body he had been so familiar with looked so different. Worn and used and beaten down and it broke Steve's heart to see. "James Barnes?" There was a short intake of breath from Sam, a warning, as Steve moved himself closer to the man on the floor but the Captain ignored it. He trusted his friends and he trusted Bucky. Worse came to the worse he doubted he would feel anything that would happen. He stopped close to Bucky, leaning forward a little and drawing in a breath as he spoke. "...Bucky?" Movement, just a twitch of his leg before the man moved, tear and pain filled green eyes glancing up to meet the worried blue staring down and he moved forward just a little.

"..S-Steve?"


	5. We were best friends in a past life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many tears does it take to flood a Shield cell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW THIS TOOK SO LONG I AM SO SORRY I HAD UNI EXAMS AND SHIZZ SO SORRY!
> 
> Anyway this chapter is short because I'm exhausted but I wanted to give you something considering newset pictures of CA:WS were released today so have something short and hopefully good.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Steve?"

Bucky sounded so... broken. So beaten down and ruined that it tore at the Captain's heart. There was clear recognition in those brilliant green eyes and Steve wanted to reach out and touch, to wipe away tears and bruises and to pull him close with promises of safety and love. But he couldn't, not just because of his condition but no one knew exactly what James remembered. Obviously him recognising his childhood friend was a huge plus and Steve's heart warmed just to hear his name said in that voice. That voice now scarred heavy with a Russian accent and a sharp tongue. It was still him though.

"Hey Bucky... you look like shit."

The man on the floor huffed out a dry laugh but his eyes never wavered away from Steve. "Could say the same for you punk, you look a little worse for wear.." Bucky trailled off and his gaze dropped. He knew what had happened and new exactly who had caused it. He remembered that, he remembered all of that and it made his skull ache. But not a word was spoken, anything else Bucky might have said on the situation was silenced by Steve.

"I had him on the ropes. Nothing serious. Bucky.. you remember me?" Steve's heart sped up when Bucky nodded, the man drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "I-I didn't know Steve.. all those people, the things I did.. I didn't know." The green eyes shone before tears spilled down tired and beaten skin, tracking paths down his cheeks and falling to his arms. "I didn't know.. I don't know. You know me Stevie, you know I-I'd never.."

Steve's heart broke hearing that but he still nodded, leaning forward despite his wounds and reaching out for Bucky, laying a hand on his arm. "I know you Bucky and I know you wouldn't have done any of it willingly. But we don't have to talk about that. I don't have long I just.. I needed to talk to you.. to see you and what you remembered about.. me?" It was such a loaded question and even Tony winced faintly behind the glass, not wanting to see the Captain beaten down if the answer was wrong.

Bucky sniffed, wiping at the tears before he frowned. "I-.... I remember you and Brooklyn and your parents and school and everything. I remember it. Then we joined the army and I.. I fell.." It was so short and Steve's heart plummeted. "Bucky what.. what were we to each other?" he asked quietly. He saw the confusion pass over James' face and the frown crease his forehead. "You're my best friend Steve.. my best friend." Steve's eyes closed and he swallowed hard. He didn't remember them. What they had, he didn't remember the promises they had made or the love they had.

"Steve? Steve what's wrong?" James leaned up, worried and Steve realised he was crying. "O-Oh.. just the pain, it's nothing," he lied, shaking his head before glancing up. "I-I'm sorry...sorry I couldn't save you, sorry I let you fall, sorry you ended up there lost and broken.." James was shaking his head quickly, ready to tell Steve that no it wasn't his fault, that it was just one of those things before the door opened and Fury walked in. Two agents moved and hauled James to his feet.

"Wait where are you taking him?!" Steve spun in his seat demanding answers as James was led from the room.

"We have a secure room in medical, he's going to be kept there which is where you should be," Fury snapped. Sam appeared moments later, stopping next to Steve and laying a hand on his shoulder. "Hey it's okay.. he remembered you right?" Sam murmured.

Steve merely gave a half shrug and closed his eyes.

"He remembers me, he doesn't remember us."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time heals all wounds, well at least the physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I have been a little shit and not updated in FOREVER and I'm sorry but they sprang back into life in my head and I couldn't just leave it hanging the way I did so here is some more!

Steve and James were kept separate after that. 

It wasn't as a punishment, wasn't to make them feel alone or lost. It was simply so both men could heal. As the days past Steve stayed in his room, stuck in a bed that he could not get out of on his own and stared out the window. Each passing visit from the nurse brought about the removal of some bandages or stitches as the soldier did what was expected and began to heal. It was slow going considering the extent of his injuries but physical marks were not the main concern. The main concern was the Captain's mental state. It was one thing to survive a bout of severe torture. It was quite another thing to suffer at the hands of a man you had loved and thought long dead. Sam would take it upon himself to visit Steve, often sitting in the chair near the door and filling in his paper work or reading a book in silence while Steve slept or drew. Steve would ask every couple of days "How is James doing?" and the answer would always be the same. "He's doing better."

He was doing better. At first Fury had been angry and hadn't much cared how the assassin was treated after what he had done t Steve. But as the days passed, anyone who visited the assassin could see he was torturing himself more than anyone with a blade or word ever could. It had been taken as far as Natasha visiting James only for a fight to break out between the two. James remembered the red head that had kept his bed and his heart warm, furious that he had been led to believe she was dead only for her to be here sitting pretty and safe. Natasha had let him get it out, let him yell and scream out his anger before the assassin collapsed, exhausted in the corner of his room and sobbed. From then on, James was treated like every other broken man in the hospital wing. Physical injuries healed slowly, bruises faded and even some quick work with the medical staff and some surgery had the mess of scars around his shoulder looking a little less barbaric. Every day he would ask "How is Steve?" and every day he would hear the reply "He's doing better."

This went on for little more than a month until "He's doing better" became the last thing Steve wanted to hear. He missed him. Knowing Bucky was alive and being unable to go and see him was a killer. So what if he didn't remember them? Didn't remember the cold nights they had spent curled up together for heat. The whispered jokes and wandering hands. The gasps and writhing and heat that would build between them. The sneaking around in camp, the fleeting kisses and looks. So what if he didn't remember. Maybe.... maybe Steve could make him remember. Not forcefully but a reminder of what they had. Thursday morning Steve was determined to sneak past Sam and hunt down Bucky's room. Talk to him and find out just how much of his old friend was in there. As he sat, cross legged on his bed there was the little voice in the back of his mind that spat, over and over 'he cut into you, tortured you. Broke you down, he hates you!' but Steve ignored it. James hadn't been in his right mind. That afternoon when Sam dropped by with his book and coffee, they exchanged the usual small talk before Sam settled in his seat and Steve made the excuse to use the bathroom. Stepping into the adjoining room the soldier shut the door and was quick to jam it with the cleaning broom before he was at the window, pushing it up and open and slinging a leg out onto the ledge.

"The things I do for you," Steve muttered quietly as he slipped out, clinging to the nearest pipe and shimmying along to the next room and was glad to see it was empty and incredibly lucky that the window had been opened for some air. Slipping into that room Steve took a moment to catch his breath. The last month had taken a lot out of him, not that he said anything to anyone of course. Slipping out the room he headed back to his own room, flicking the lock and hoping Sam would forgive him before he turned and headed back down the hall. He knew James' room wasn't where Sam had told him it was since Sam had been following the rules Steve had helped lay down so instead of heading down to the room at the end where two SHIELD agents were stationed, Steve took off down the left down to intensive care. Call it a hunch or whatever you like but Steve knew. Someone as so... damaged as James would be on intense watch and what better place than down here?  
  
Steve followed the yellow strip on the floor down the corridor and almost right past Bucky's room, a passing glance in each room was enough and the soldier halted and turned back and just... stared.  
  
Bucky was sitting in the middle of his room leaning against his bed and flipping a pack of cards around his fingers. First one way, then the other. It was a familiar sight to Steve, a jerk back to the old days in a pub somewhere when Bucky would be planning on cheating some poor guy out of a few bucks just so they could eat dinner. It was strange to watch now, the concentration etched over a pain drawn face. Years clear on Bucky's features that had passed in a blink of an eye for Steve. Yet the way his fingers were moving, the quickness of how he scanned those cards it was just like the old days. The little crinkle in his eye, the teeth snagging his lower lip and that mess of dark brown hair. There were still signs of the man Steve had fallen in love with and he so badly wanted to draw him back to the surface. Maybe if he found Bucky again he'd find the man that had looked at him with such love.  
  
Slowly the Captain eased open the door and slipped inside. James' eyes were on him before he'd even put pressure on the door handle but he never said anything, just watched for a moment before scanning down Steve checking for injuries and anything that would suggest he was anything but 100%. Seeing everything seemingly in tip top shape he shuffled the cards once more and started dealing two piles. Steve lowered himself down to sit across from him, just watching the cards get laid down before he drew in a breath, dying to speak but unsure what to say. Instead the silence was broken by Bucky.

"If I ask how you're doing will I get I proper answer or will you just tell me that you're doing better?" James didn't look up, simply kept dealing all the cards but Steve could tell the assassins full attention was on him. Steve smiled, shaking his head a little and trying not to stare. Somehow mentioning his recovery seemed like a bad idea considering what it was linked to. "I am doing... all right," Steve replied, watching the slow flick of the cards. "At least that's how I feel. I think there's something to be said for the medical staff here being able to keep me here."

Surprisingly that drew a laugh out of James and Steve stared in surprise. "I remember you being a hard one to pin down where hospitals were concerned," James murmured, placing the final card and gathering his own up and finally, finally James lifted his gaze to meet the ever clear blue of Steve's. James looked tired and broken and in so much pain but there was familiarity in his eyes that Steve latched onto as he gather up his own cards.

"You remember that? I--.... They've not told me just how much you remember and how much has been forgotten," Steve admitted, not breaking eye contact for a second and James didn’t either, curiosity sweeping over his features at Steve's words.

"Well... how about we find out just how much I remember?"

The Captain grinned at that and nodded, fanning out his cards in one hand. From the look on James face though it was already certain what feelings hadn't survived the years.


	7. Pack of cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a game of cards between old friends? 
> 
> (Told from Bucky's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm slow at updating but these should be regular updates on the lead up to Christmas okay thankyou for feedback!

A frown creased his forehead, teeth snagging his lower lip in thought. It was a hard decision, it could mean the difference been victory and defeat, pride and shame, winning or losing. The seconds ticked by, no sound other than the ticking of the clock on the wall, the occasional beep of the security system and the odd sound from the hall every now and then as someone passed. Finally James made his decision, choosing Diamonds over Spades and he plucked the card from his hand and set it down on the discard pile. Tearing his eyes away from his cards he glanced up to the blue across from him where Steve was studying him with a careful intensity that had Bucky doubting if it was there at all. But he knew it was, there was something deeply familiar about that look and he was happy to simply sit in its presence. To sit in Steve's presence. Who would have guessed that a few weeks ago, Steve was screaming under Bucky's skilled fingers (and not in the way people would first assume). Yet the assassin couldn't see a mark on him. Not even the shadow if a bruise and to a man that had lived as long as James had, that was an amazing sight.

  
Something told him that he already knew that though, already knew that Steve would heal right up. Didn't stop the cold guilt in his stomach that he tortured his best friend. Or old best friend. God knows what they were now and Bucky didn't want to try and work it out. Not yet. He was happy to simply sit and stare and study from a safe distance. He caught everything. Every movement of Steve's whole body as he leaned forward to grasp a card from the second pile and slot it among his own. The way those blue eyes would flick to Bucky for a second before back to the cards, only sparing James the odd glance if he moved or made a sound. There was something else, something teasing on the edge of Bucky's consciousness but he could never grasp it. What shocked him the most was how he liked to look. He found himself simply staring at Steve's face. The golden tones of his skin, the neat hair minus the few loose strands that had flopped forward and out of place. The squareness of his jaw, the way he held the cards, the strong slopes of muscle on his arms. It was nice to look at, Steve was like a work of art.

  
A canvas Bucky had torn into.

  
Bucky's mind was torn from his day dream when Steve cleared his throat and dropped a card onto the discard pile. The King of Clubs. Useless to Bucky. "The chip shop at the end of the street?"

  
James' brow furrowed again, this time searching back through a clouded jumble of too much knowledge before he nodded. "Missy Parker, she used to give us free chips if I flirted a little and we always had the table in the corner behind the divider. No one else disturbed us. I remember... slipping behind the bins often enough for a snog with her," he grinned. Keen grey eyes caught the flicker of... something over Steve's face but it was too fast to catch and not important enough to mention. Steve then nodded and Bucky rewarded his good memory by taking another card. 7 of clubs. It immediately ended up in the discard pile and then his attention was back on Steve for his turn. He wondered what was going through the blonde’s head, if he was feeling guilty for sneaking here, if he was having fun or if he was wary, waiting for Bucky to pounce with a new set of knives. That in itself was strange. _Bucky._ What kind of name was that?

  
It was a name that brought a certain look over the Captain. James had seen it in the interview room, remembered it from the cell and even saw it now when he'd repeated his name. It was a certain light in those blue eyes, a certain way his lips curled into a smile. Of course Bucky put it down to simple relief that the man Steve knew was still alive. But it still felt like something was missing. Or perhaps that was the guilt. The guilt of everything he had done as the Soldier, something Bucky couldn't even think about without wanting to rip off the metal that hung at his side.

"Bucky, what do you remember when you think of winter?" Steve asked as he tossed the 3 of Diamonds into the discard pile and fixed Bucky with an intense look that had the assassin scared to even think about lying. Not that he would.

He was careful, slow in picking up the diamond card and slotting it into his hand before fixing his cards with a stare as if he was facing a tough decision. "I remember..." Cold. Always cold. He could work for hours every day and where he lived was still cold. "I remember having to work a lot. Early in the morning right through to the night. Always in the dark when I was heading there or heading home. Still wasn't enough... still always cold." He remembered being late, remembered running up the street to find Steve huddled on the doorstep because he'd been locked out. "You were so blue," Bucky murmured, too quiet for Steve to understand and the questioning look in the Captain's face went ignored. He remembered carrying him inside, so small and fragile, so frozen. Dumping him in the bath and turning on everything to make the place warm. Even making soup and then... cuddling? Made sense if Steve had been freezing. "I trust you don't lock yourself out anymore?" Bucky asked louder this time for Steve to hear and he set his discard card down on the pile and leaned his elbows on his knees, watching a soft look settle over his friends face.

"No, not anymore," Steve said. "Plus I don't think I can freeze as easily as I did back then."

  
True. Steve was.. he was so big. It was both alarming and familiar for the assassin and he hated this mixture. Two reactions for everything, two voices in his mind, two lives telling him how he should act and what he should remember. Rather than wait for Steve's next question, he carried on talking. "I remember Mrs Smythe, giving us those burnt scones from her tray and the way she would look at us, like we were going to disappear. I remember Mr Hardy giving us the day old milk he couldn't sell. I remember that awful threadbare blanket that you tried to get me to take to work. I remember things and it feels like it wasn't quite me, like I have someone else’s memory in my head that feels the same and yet... wrong."

  
Steve's hand froze between his cards and the pile, his gaze fixed on Bucky before he dropped the card. "I suppose that's to be expected, you did live a completely different life for years. It's almost like you're two different people. I guess that's why we can't.. put any hope in the fact that your memory might not all come back.."

  
Hearing Steve say that was more numbing than hearing the doctor saying it. Somehow Steve sounded a lot more disappointed and Bucky fell silent searching for why. "But... I remember you and most of our past and some of the war.. surely that's all that matters?" he asked, lowering his cards. Surely that was enough, it had to be enough. How could he even begin to make up for what he'd done if Steve didn't think he was enough. He took a card from the pile, only glancing at it as he swapped it for one of his own and discarded the other. Steve was looking.. pained before he nodded and smiled. It felt like a poster smile but Bucky didn't complain. He wasn't sure he could.

  
"Of course Bucky, you've remembered the important things."

  
Bucky watched Steve focus on his cards again, yet he couldn't help feeling like he was letting him down by not remembering everything. The moment had passed and anything that should have been said was lost with the moment leaving the silence to fall again as their focus returned to the cards. Steve set down another Diamond which had Bucky grinning as he snatched it up, swapped it out for a Club and then set his cards out, fanning them out to show Ace, Two, Three and Four of Diamonds and the King and Queen of Hearts. "I win!"

  
Steve stared for a moment before letting out a slight groan. "You had my hearts!" he whined with a smile, fanning out his own cards to show the Jack, Ten and Nine of hearts and a mixture of the rest. Bucky couldn't help but grin in triumph before leaning forward a little. "What do I win?" The assassin swears he saw caution on Steve's face as the hero leaned forward and asked "Do you remember what you would win when we were younger?"

  
That had Bucky furrowing his brow again, gaze falling to the cards as he hunted through that fog in search of memories but he couldn't remember playing cards with Steve, the few glimpses he had was a hint that they did play cards yes, but he couldn't draw up a full memory, to which he shook his head and studied Steve's face for a reaction. "What would I win?"

  
Unfortunately before Steve could say anything, the door flew open and Sam stood in the doorway, arms folded looking very pissed off.

  
"You get lost on the way to the bathroom?"  
  


Crap.


	8. Bacon and feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's takes on his recovery and Bucky takes on freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL it's been an age since I updated I know! I've been finishing university and things and just not had time for things like this. Anyone seen Cap 2? A month later and I'M STILL DYING FROM FEELS. Sadly removing SHIELD from this fic won't work at least not right now but if it gets to that stage then I promise it'll be good!
> 
> I also post under the tag of hibernamilitis so look out for that if you wanna read other fics from me!
> 
> So this chapter is a little shorter but I wanted to jump forward to something more juicy in the next chapter so this one is just setting up the stage and filling in the gasp, I hope you enjoy!

Ever since Sam had caught Steve sneaking out his room to see Bucky, they’d been kept apart. Neither of the doctor’s or Fury saw any benefits to Steve’s recovery if he had access to the man who had tortured him, regardless of who he was. It had been a hard pill to swallow for Steve but deep down he understood. Bucky was his best friend, had been so much more during the war but looking at him now there was barely any recognition in Bucky’s eyes and there was absolutely no hope of them rekindling anything straight away. So Steve accepted the lack of contact and would spend the passing days in his bed, healing. Sam was a permanent fixture by his bed side, often reading to him when he was in too much pain to focus himself or simply reading to himself while Steve drew or watched the shitty television.

Visitors were scarce mostly because of the missions that took place and Steve was no longer a part of that, not until he was healed. His injuries, even with the help of the serum, had been horrific and a month after his card game with Bucky, he started extensive physio-therapy. While Steve thought it was a waste of time and that his therapist could focus on someone more important, he soon learned just why he needed such attention and quickly silenced his arguments. Days of lying in bed became days of wandering the garden and the halls leaning on a stick. Those days slowly turned into moving without aid and before long, Steve was discharged from Medical and allowed to return to his apartment.

Not once did he ask about Bucky, knowing no one would tell him anything anyway. It didn’t stop him wondering though, the passing days knowing his friend was alive and somewhere in SHIELD was eating away at him, the thought that he was all alone.

Or so he thought.

Steve’s second day waking up in his apartment was greeted by Sam already in his kitchen frying some bacon with coffee and orange juice already laid out on the table. Steve was surprised but the company was welcomed, yawning out a hello before easing himself into one of the seats. Sam grunted and grinned in reply, sliding the now crispy bacon onto a plate with some buttered rolls and set the plate down. Dropping into the opposite chair, he was silent in watching his friend shove some bacon into a roll and take a bite before he cleared his throat.

“Steve… we need to talk. About James.”

Two bites in and Steve paused, eyes darting up from the mix of bacon and bread to Sam. The serious look hidden underneath that smile was enough to put a stopper in the soldier’s appetite. He feared the worse, what else could it be? Maybe in their time apart, Bucky had killed himself or resorted back to his controlled, wiped template or even been taken back by the Russian’s they rescued him fall. His hands lowered and he nodded.

“Okay, what is it? Is he okay?”

“Well…” Sam leaned his elbows on the table and began to explain that Bucky hadn’t taken the lack of contact so well. He may not have remembered much about Steve but he was the only one that had ever treated him with a smile and it was pain for him to be denied that contact despite what he had done to him during his time with the Russian’s. Bucky’s emotional state had deteriorated, his nightmares were horrific and often woke the whole ward; he would vomit and panic, wake up panicking and fight anyone that came near him. He refused to eat, showed threatening behaviour and exploded in a flurry of angry Russian and threats when Tony Stark came to deactivate his arm. Three agents were put in the hospital because of James and things reached the stage where Bucky was slipping into the familiar emotional state of the Russian assassin than trying to remember everything about who he had been. With his nightmares and violent state of mind, SHIELD had taken to sedating him regularly. Steve’s expression turned thunderous when he heard this but he remained silent and allowed Sam to continue. Sam revealed that a couple of weeks after Steve had started his physio-therapy; Bucky had attacked his nurse and escaped. 

They’d been trying to find him ever since but even if Bucky didn’t fully remember who he was, he did remember everything the Russian’s had drilled into his head after every wipe. Many were worried about his mental state and how he was coping with his emotions, his memories and life outside of being nothing but a machine. They only reason Steve had been kept in the dark was due to the knowledge that he would scrap his own recovery in favour of finding Bucky.

“He’s good at hiding, even Natasha has only managed to track down glimpses and indications that he’s still in DC but that’s it. We don’t know what he’s been doing, how he is or even if he’s still a free man. I’m sorry Steve, I shouldn’t have kept you in the dark but—“

“But I would have gone after him the second I knew he was missing,” Steve finished, hands clasping together and brow creasing on concentration. Seventy years ago he would have known where to look for him but now? And with his mind such a mess? Steve had no idea. Not that it mattered, he was going to look and he was going to find him. Sure, there was the small factor that Bucky had tortured him for days but in the greater scale of things Steve knew that could be dealt with later. Bucky was alive, out there and no longer under the safe watchful eye of SHIELD so he would find him all by himself.  
Well maybe not by himself.

“I need to find him. I don’t care what he did, not right now. Anything he did it wasn’t him. I won’t leave him to wander alone. He’s already been doing that for weeks, god knows where he is. I need to find him.” Not just for the fact they used to be in love but he needed his friend back and if he was alive then he was definitely in that messed up broken mind, somewhere.

“I know,” Sam nodded, reaching for a roll and some bacon, folding it all together and taking a bite. “I’m coming with you. It’s my fault you two got kept apart like you did, my fault he got put in such a position. He probably thought SHIELD were exactly like the Red Room. So we’ll find him even if it’s just so I can punch him for what he did to you and then… apologise.”

Steve smiled, it wasn’t strong but it was appreciative. The only problem?

Where the hell did they start?


	9. Take a breath with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days are passing slower and slower, the trail long gone cold. How does Rogers find someone that doesn't want to be found?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else sad at the rumours that Sebastian won't be in Age of Ultron? I'm gonna pray they're not true cause then we gotta wait another two years before his beautiful face graces our screens again in leather.
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> This chapter is pretty much a filler chapter to wrap up a few loose ends I noticed when doing a read through, hope it makes sense!

Six months.

Six months since Steve had been cleared out of therapy and was back on his feet. Four months since he started training again. Four months since Steve had witnessed the fall of shield when a HYDRA assassin got cocky and tried to assassinate him in therapy and Fury ‘died’.  Six months since Steve Rogers found out that after all this time, he’d been working for the people he’d died destroying back in the war.

The biggest shock? Finding out that the Russian’s that had caputured him nearly a year ago, that had Bucky in their evil hands had been the remains of the Red Room. Lukin? Had not been giving the orders by himself, he had in fact been working alongside Alexander Pierce.

Six months since Steve had watched SHIELD crumble, HYDRA scramble for control and friends die.

Six months since he’d last heard even a whisper of James Barnes.

Now?

Now there was weak desperation in Steve’s heart when he woke each morning. Sam had taken to sleeping in the spare room, the apartment too big for Steve but he had needed somewhere new and fresh. Natasha was gone, he had no idea where she had gone to hide but he did receive letters every few months, encrypted but letting Steve know that she was alive. Each morning he woke to his breakfast, some training and then returned to his desk where every piece of information he had on what had happened to Bucky was laid out.

Only he spent less time there now. As each day passed and the path grew colder and colder; Steve’s heart grew heavier and heavier. He regretted not trying harder to see him in hospital, not demanding more exact information on how Bucky was doing. But it was too late now.

It was late on a Thursday afternoon when Steve pulled himself from that desk, called a bland excuse to Sam, grabbed his jacket and left. The wind was sharp causing the soldier to pull up his collar, shove his hands in his pocket and trudge through the light rain. His mind was running a million miles an hour over numbers and rumours that were so old there was no hope in them but he still held hope.

Steve Rogers would never give up on James Barnes.

He made his way down the main street, enjoying the silence. He and Sam had taken refuge in Nebraska. It was out the way and as far as they had come in their search for the fleeing assassin, following internet rumours of a man with a metal arm. Steve, so far, couldn’t bring himself to go any further so they rented the apartment and Steve took a trip down to the local coffee shop every week.

It was where he was now, shaking off his coat with a cup of hot chocolate in front of him. He took the booth near the back, pulling a small notepad and pen from his pocket and began to sketch. It was the only time he managed to find any sort of peace during the past months. When a shadow fell over him, he didn’t think much about it, sketching out the sharp lines of what he was drawing. Since Bucky’s disappearance his art had become harder, sharper and more striking than the soft lines of old days he would draw.  
  
The shadow moved off eventually, Steve assuming it was the waitress checking to see if his cup was empty or something but not important enough to draw his attention away from the drawing. Until ten minutes later when he leaned forward to grasp his cup to take a drink and saw who was sitting across from him.

Looking haggard and thin, dark hair soaked through and dangling and clumped strands around a familiar face. Dull blue eyes partly hidden by a baseball cap and overly large hoodie. A leather glove on one hand and the other shoved into the pocket of the hoodie for warmth, the look completed with worn jeans.

_BUCKY_.

Steve didn’t speak, too afraid if he made a noise then he’d scare him away. The hand that lingered on the cup handle moved down to the saucer, slow controlled movement’s before he slid the cup across the small table under it was close to Bucky’s knee’s, then he sat back and stared.

Waiting.


	10. Hold that breath and count to three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because Bucky's right back in front of him, doesn't mean anything's changed... does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new chapters in one day? I spoil you all!
> 
> So this is a chapter I love, it gives me so many fuzzy stucky feels and I hope it does for you too!
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve was still holding his breath when Bucky moved forward and picked up the cup, wrapping his hands around the brim and seemingly just absorbing the heat from the liquid inside. Not that Steve minded, he was still in shock that he was even here. His gaze did shift to Bucky’s left arm but the metal was safely hidden away. His fingers were thin, no… his whole form was thin and Steve did not like that one bit, it reminded him of the old days yet during their fight all those months ago he knew he’d felt solid muscle. Clearly the assassin hadn’t been taking care of himself but then again, how could one take care of themselves effectively when their mind was a mess and they had two people rattling around in their head?

Steve set the pad down on his knees, capping the pen he’d been drawing with and waiting for some sort of response. The only thing that happened was Bucky taking a sip of the drink and smacking his lips when it burned. Maybe he was waiting on Steve. So the soldier drew in a breath and tried to force a smile but the grin slipped onto his lips easier than it had in months.

“You always used to flirt with the red head down at the store to get her to save you some powder when it came in. Usually around my birthday. Couldn’t afford cake but we could afford hot chocolate twice a year,” he murmured softly. That was why he always bough it when he visited here. Sure it was sweeter and thicker than what they had back home all those years ago but it was still good.

Bucky’s eyes had flicked up the moment Steve had started to speak, drinking a little more before setting the cup down. He remembered it, or at least remembered enough to know Steve was telling the truth. He hadn’t been tailing the soldier for the past two months if he didn’t know that this was where he wanted to be. The rain had put a dampener on his original plan of approaching Steve out in the open but this was cosy enough. “I remember. I remember a lot of things,” he admitted slowly, accent still heavy with Russian influence but there was a tinge of American there that Steve recognised. It made his heart ache in the worst way but he didn’t speak yet, just watched.

“I remember… things that--… there’s Russia I remember and—“ He counted off on his fingers. “Germany and HYDRA, I remember things, bits and pieces that fit together and some things that… don’t.” Bucky kept his voice low, occasionally glancing to the door and the window just in case someone came crashing through. No one would though, but he still feared it. Steve flipped the notepad closed, setting it down and clasping his hands together. He remembered things, which was good enough for Steve. The way people had described Bucky’s condition before he’d escaped had worried Steve but seemingly his time out of captivity and on the run had helped him in some way and Steve  was pleased with that.

“What do you remember?” A question he feared the answer of. How cruel was it that the two people he loved more than anything in the world barely remembered him in a world that had never forgotten him? While relationships could be rebuilt, Bucky was not the same person. Bucky however remembered more than Steve was expecting. He slid forward in his seat a little, flesh fingers rubbing over leather.

“You know me – _knew_ me, back then. Back before I was all… this.”

Steve nodded, eyes constantly moving over the other. He could see the exhaustion  and the jumpiness clear as day, part of him wondering if he could persuade Bucky to come back to his apartment. “I did. You are my best friend. We grew up together in—“

“—Brooklyn,” Bucky interrupted. Confidence and sure. “I remember fights and you weren’t as big as you are now.” They made eye contact for the briefest second before Bucky’s gaze was moving again. “And… you loved me.”

Steve’s lips parted in surprised, unsure what Bucky meant by that. Saying the wrong thing could have bad consequences and the silence hung for a moment. “I did. You were my best friend,” Steve answered finally, slowly. Bucky’s hands returned to the cup, bringing it up as he shook his head. “No, no you _loved_ me. I remember you saying it. Even now… now I feel, sitting here with you it feels… safe…” He trailed off and took another sip, his hand shaking when he put the cup down before he leaned forward, a worse look slipping into his eyes. Desperation, fear.

“I remember things, your hands in places and then it warps, it turns into… into…” He broke off and leaned back, his right knee starting to shake in worry and leaving Steve to sit in silence as he tried to work out what Bucky meant. “Yes,” Steve finally answered. “Yes I loved you in other ways and I still--… we did things, good things. We had a good relationship it wasn’t bad I _promise_ you that.” Steve was worried, worried about what Bucky’s memories could warp into. The answer was not one he could stomach.

“But you weren’t the only one,” Bucky murmured, voice strained. “The… Lukin he would—I don’t know if I  wanted it I can’t remember saying yes but he would, he would do things that I—I can’t…”Bucky ended up falling silent, jaw tense and his hands balling up into fists while the news sank into Steve and realisation struck him harder than any punch ever could. Steve swallowed, hard, moving to rise from his seat and over to the counter where he requested a hot chocolate to go. Bucky, who’d seen Steve rise and move away from him and stood, ready to bolt until Steve grasped his arm. The soldier could feel the solid metal underneath, the first time they’d touched each other since Bucky had used a blade to carve into his skin but it was enough to make them both stop and stare for a second.

“Wait,” Steve murmured before tossing a few bills on the counter, pocketing his notebook and taking the drink before leading Bucky outside. The rain was pouring and Steve pressed the drink into Bucky’s arms before releasing his arm and taking a few steps away. “Come with me,” he requested, seeing confusion pass over Bucky before he did. Bucky had just revealed something serious and yet Steve was leading him away? He stayed a few steps behind, the weapon in his jeans the only comfort against the small of his back before he stopped dead in the middle of the road.

“Are you going to arrest me? Is that—is that what this is?”

Steve turned, alarmed to see Bucky stop in the middle of the road but it was a small town and the lack of cars had him walking back the few steps and staring hard at Bucky’s face as the rain fell and soaked into them both. “I had to leave because the idea that those people that _hurt_ you could have forced you into… into… things like that, you weren’t you Bucky you couldn’t say yes. Is that what happens? You remember us and it warps into them?” It made sense, Lukin and whoever else had forced Bucky to submit to them were more recent. Bucky nodded, blinking through the rain and gripping onto the cup until the cardboard burst in his metal hand and the drink flew everywhere. Both men flinched, Bucky moving to dart back but he was stopped by Steve’s arms wrapping around him, pulling him so close.

It was a lot of information to process at once and Steve wasn’t sure what to focus on. Bucky remembering things, remembering them or the fact that Bucky had suffered in more ways than he was prepared for. He kept his arms tight around the assassin. Bucky unsure why his body relaxed against Steve but he didn’t hug him back, not yet.

Yes Bucky remembered things but he struggled too much with emotions and as such had tried to numb himself against everything.

Yet… in the pouring rain in the circle of warm, strong arms; Bucky felt the walls shaking, so much so that he fought to get free. Steve didn’t give up though, only taking steps to get them out the middle of the road before gripping tighter. Bucky, his desire to get free turned into hands wrapping around Steve and gripping tight into his jacket, burying his face in his shoulder. The stopped on his emotions wasn’t going to last long and Steve had a lot to process. He just had one question.

“Come home with me, please. You don’t have to stay but please come home with me. Get warm and try, some food and drink and rest please. Please Buck, just come with me. Stop running and come with me, let me help you.”

Bucky wanted to run, lingering too long in one place? That was bad. But he had found something nice and he certainly didn’t want to let go of Steve so instead he screwed up his eyes and nodded against his shoulder. He could stay, just for an hour right?

Then again, nothing ever goes as planned.


	11. Bittersweet Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you begin to pick up the pieces of an old life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looong time since I updated, life has been hectic and I am awful I know, but I aim to be more regular and get this fic finished! I hope you all find this chapter worth the wait <3

        The only sound in the apartment other than the soft, regular tick of the clock, was the light tapping of metal against porcelain. Bucky was currently seated stiff and alert on the edge of his seat with a mug clasped between his hands and staring into the fireplace that Steve had lit moments ago to heat up the apartment and help dry them both off. Steve had provided Bucky with a hot drink, unsure of the serum's that ran through the assassin's veins but he wasn't taking any risks with him getting sick. Steve was near the kitchen, drying his hands on the towel after cleaning up some water spillage but other than that, the apartment was silent. Sam was gone, a note stuck to the fridge explaining that he had been called to work with Tony on something and that he would be back later that night, leaving Steve with several hours alone with the man that had been the source of his torture... and his best friend. Currently unsure what to say, Steve moved off to his office, closing the door over and pulling a box out from under his desk. It contained various files and images that Tony had saved during Natasha's dump of HYDRA files, files that contained information on Bucky and what he had been through. Steve hadn't had the stomach to read much of it yet but now that Bucky was here, Steve would take the time to familiarise himself with some of the workings held between those bindings.

        It was the handbook he picked up first -- and his stomach rolled with nausea at how there was an actual handbook on how to maintain Bucky -- and carefully began flicking through it. He was in search of any sort of information related to what Bucky was given to eat, how he was treated and more importantly, how he was washed. The food was to be expected, Steve finding a couple of pages on the mush solution that they had pumped into him when he had needed sustenance. According to Sam, Bucky hadn't touched any food offered to him during his stay at SHIELD, and with how thin he was looking it was clear that the habit had continued in the past 6 months. Next were instructions -- and the page crumpled with Steve's anger -- on how to clean the Asset, step by step guides on how to make him compliant, where to clean and then a diagram of the pressure hose used to clean him. Steve wasn't sure he could picture anything more barbaric than that, and he slammed the file shut and shoved it back in the box. It was enough to go on for now.

        Steve made his way back through to the living room where Bucky was still staring at the fire and tapping his fingers on the mug. Steve lowered himself down onto the edge of the coffee table and gently cleared his throat to announce his presence, forearms coming to rest on his knee's as he leaned forward. 

        "Hey Buck... I'm going to set the shower up for you okay?" Bucky's head snapped around at those words and Steve could see the flicker of fear that rose, so he was quick to continue so Bucky knew there was nothing to fear. "It is nothing like the pressure hose those bastards would use on you okay? It's much softer, much gentler and I will show you how safe it is okay? I'll leave some clean clothes out for you as well and while you shower, I'll work on getting you something to eat okay?" Each word was a suggestion, a choice so Bucky could choose whether or not he wanted to take the shower or the clothes or even the food. Bucky studied Steve's face intently, searching for deception yet already knowing deep down that it was not there. He tipped his head back as he drained the mug and set it aside before he nodded. "Okay."

        With Bucky's agreement, Steve smiled and stood, lightly brushing fingers over Bucky's shoulder to coax him up and when he was on his feet, Steve led him to the bathroom. Once inside, Steve offered Bucky a smile and pulled back the curtain. "It's different I promise. This switches it on, this dial controls the pressure and this one controls the temperature. You are free to set them to whatever feels good for you okay?" Steve explained carefully before he pressed the button and turned the shower on. The flinch from Bucky at the burst of water didn't go unnoticed but he didn't comment on it, instead pointing to the soaps. "You can use any of these, the two on the end are for your hair and you can use as much as you like. Take your time, there is no rush and if you need any help you are allowed to call me okay?" Steve made sure to give as much choice and positivity as he could, hoping that in doing so, Bucky would be less afraid. The assassin was silent through it all but he did noticed how Steve spoke so gently and gave him choices.

        "Thanks Steve," Bucky murmured when the short tour was finished. Steve gave him a stronger smile, patted his arm affectionately and left the bathroom, leaving Bucky to stand and stare at the water streaming from the shower head. It was rather daunting since at SHIELD he had only been allowed sponge baths and the water did remind him of the hose. But there was also a part of it that reminded him of the rain he had just been in so Bucky held his hand under the water, mildly surprised to feel that it didn't hurt. He glanced at the door, expecting Steve to come bursting through with a yell or an order but the door remained shut and the room had filled thick with clouds of steam by the time Bucky finally started peeling out of his clothes. He did fold them neatly and place them in the corner near the door before carefully stepping into the shower and hissing when the water hit his battered body. It took some time for Bucky to find a temperature and water pressure that was satisfying to him but eventually the perfect combination was found and the assassin surprised himself by releasing a soft groan of relief. Aching muscles slowly relaxed in the heat, tension eased by the pattering water and Bucky eventually sagged forward under the stream, metal hand up braced on the tiles to stop himself falling over and letting the water wash away everything. 

        While Bucky was busy in the shower, Steve hunted around the kitchen for anything that could be easy on Bucky's stomach. The closest he had was soup but from what he had read, he was worried that the strong tastes on Bucky's weak palate would be enough to cause sickness. So while the soup was heating up on the stove, Steve calculated how to water it down enough to lose the strong taste but still retain flavour. With the food bubbling away Steve headed back to the bedroom, carefully knocking on the bathroom door. With no answer, he opened the door slowly and saw Bucky under the stream of water seemingly lost to the world. There was a stab of guilt in his gut for staring but it was a body he knew and yet didn't know. Peering through the gap, Steve swallowed dryly at the curve of Bucky's spine, the way the water cascaded over his shoulders and down his torso to the swell of his ass. Just looking there was enough for another pang of guilt and he quickly looked away before taking the dirty clothes that Bucky had been wearing and replacing them with clean, soft ones of his own. Then he shut the door and returned to the kitchen.

        Bucky eventually managed to pull himself out of his daze, relaxed muscles not being something he was used to feeling and James felt somewhat stretched thin and rubbery as he finally turned off the shower and stepped out. He was of course surprised to see his clothes gone and new ones in place but it brought a smile to his lips before he could stop himself. This was weird, things were weird and he didn't know what to process first. So like the rest of the day, he just went with it and dried himself off before dressing in the clothes provided. They were a few sizes too big but they smelt like Steve and the assassin was more than happy to bundle himself up in them. With that sorted and his wet hair smoothed back away from his face, Bucky moved back through to the living room to find a bowl of soup on the table with a soft roll next to it, and a glass of... Whiskey?

        "I know tea and hot chocolate can only warm you up so far so..." Steve grinned as he finished putting the Whiskey bottle back before dropping down onto the couch and inviting Bucky to sit with him. There was something incredibly warming about seeing Bucky in his clothes and he wondered if Bucky himself had ever felt this way back when Steve had been the one to borrow clothes and bundle up for warmth. Bucky smiled though, easing into the seat and downing the contents of the glass in one smooth move. It was the first suggestion to Steve that Bucky had perhaps found a way to cope with what was happening to him and he was unsure if he should worry or support it. Not important right now though as silence fell once again and Bucky settled in with the soup, eating in small sips while Steve watched from the corner of his eye. He looked cleaner, fresher after the shower and yes Steve's mind was wandering to what he had seen when he had peeked in. If Bucky had been looking at him right now Steve was sure his cheeks would have flushed up and given himself away. Thankfully Bucky's attention was fixed on the soup, mostly the strange flavours exploding over his tongue and the strange cramps in his stomach as his body worked to deal with something warm and actually nutritious.

        But the silence was comfortable. Neither felt a need to break it or ask questions or even engage in small talk. It was a silence much like in the old days when Bucky would be tired from work and Steve would be breathless from the cold. They would simply sit and enjoy each other's company, each too content and tired to talk but knowing there was no need. Bucky felt a pang of disappointment when he finished the soup but he also felt incredibly full, an awkward feeling he wasn't used to and unsure how to process. But with a hot shower, hot food and relaxed muscles came something else. The strong walls preventing the exhaustion from creeping up were fast crumbling away. He yawned, leaned back against Steve and slumped a little, hand rising to rub the tiredness from his eyes. All it took was for Steve's arm to settle gently around his shoulders and the assassin fell into an exhausted sleep that he had been denying himself for weeks.

 

When Sam came home late that night, he was pleased to find the apartment warm and incredibly surprised to find Steve fast asleep on the couch with none other that Bucky -- wearing Steve's clothes -- tucked up at his side. Sam debated a lot of things in those few moments of staring, before draping a blanket over the two and retreating to his own room with a knowing smile on his face. Any step, no matter how small or strange, was important.


End file.
